


Wish You Were Mine

by SugarQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Harry, Drinking, Exhibitionism, Fun, Lady Gaga Music Video, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stiletto Heels, Uniform Kink, because why not, kind of but not really, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 01:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12422289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarQuill/pseuds/SugarQuill
Summary: Draco discovers that he rather likes Muggle music, or at least their music videos.





	Wish You Were Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This was written purely for pleasure on my part.
> 
> I needed to write something a little carefree and fun after a rather crap week. I was listening to Lady Gaga on YouTube and this is the result.
> 
> This work is unbeta'd so any mistakes are entirely my own.

Draco gawks gormlessly at the beguile screen before him, his head tilted to the right and his lips parted in a silent 'O'. He thinks, somewhat distantly, that he might be drooling but he can't seem to draw himself away long enough in order to check.

His palms feel clammy, condensation beginning to drip over the tight grip of his fingers around the coffee-coloured glass shaft of his Butter Beer. He wipes them down jean-clad thighs as he continues to stare at the delightful array of muscular men; he likes the way they're dancing collectively together at the moment, flexing and thrusting. 

Although, he doesn't understand why they're being overseen by a blonde woman wearing some form of bizarre headgear. _Must be a Muggle thing_ , he thinks as he draws another attentive sip from his bottle, licking the sticky remnants from his lips afterwards. He wonders if the half-naked Narcissus will appear on screen again; he rather liked him with his oiled skin and military helmet, and oh how Draco would love to use those cords to tie the man down—

"Another beer, Malfoy?"

Draco jerks at the sudden interruption, snapping his head around to meet the apprehensive, yet empathetic face of Harry Potter. He's staring down at Draco expectantly and Draco glares back for a moment as he ponders over what the fuck Potter wants. _Oh right_ , he'd asked Draco a question, hadn't he?

"Sure." Draco shrugs unheedingly before turning back to the television, effectively dismissing the Wizard.

The men are now dancing around in a tight circle with their arms entwined. Some pair off to the forefront, where one of each couple forcibly shoves their companion face down into the floor. The imagery isn't lost on Draco, who licks his suddenly dry lips. He scarcely hears Potter as he blunders away to obediently retrieve another bottle for him while he scrutinises the blonde singer, dressed as a nun in red and cream PVC. _How creative_ , Draco praises.

The scene changes again: now the woman is practically naked and moving lewdly around on a bed, opening her legs wide to squat wantonly above one of the male dancers. She pulls on a leather cord attached to the headboard and—

_Oh._

The men are no longer wearing the heavy combat boots that Draco had appreciated so nicely earlier. No, now they are donned in black patent heels that have Draco feeling just so fucking lascivious as the beautifully toned men bend and thrust seductively against candid metal bunks. 

_Dear, Merlin_. Draco inhales so sharply through his nose that his nostrils flare and he catches a scent of smokey bergamot and vanilla with a subtle hint of something _just-so-familiar_. He breathes laboriously as he attempts to suck in more of the heady scent, continues to watch the men dance and flex oh so fucking erotically with those leather cords—and _heels_.

A quiet whimper escapes him as his cock begins to swell from the double-barrel hit to his senses; he's more turned on now in Ginny and Luna's apartment than he ever has been wanking to those wanting photographs in his tattered copy of Wizards With Wands.

He shuffles as best he can in his hot-pink, lumpy armchair, to rearrange himself in his slacks—being fitted, they don't have much give—and notices movement out of the corner of his eye.

Potter is stood stiffly beside him, a dripping bottle of beer clutched in his hands. He darts his gaze swiftly from Draco to the television screen and back. _Shit_ , _how long has he been standing there?_

Draco frantically spins to face the twat, to tell Potter some snide remark about being a blasted pervert before he can get any jibes in himself, but the expression on Potter's face makes the words die in his mouth.

Potter's cheeks are flushed a pleasing pink, the same shade as Draco's cock when he grips it too hard at the base to hold off an impending orgasm. There's a light sheen of sweat glistening along Potter's hairline making his ebony locks lay flat against his temples in short, shiny waves. His upper lip has a gathering of beaded perspiration; it sits enticingly above his Cupid’s bow, and it takes every ounce of control Draco has not to lean forward and lick it. He absently wonders what it would taste like. Salty? Or just skin? Why must the universe render so many unsettled enigmas for him?

He glimpses back up at Potter's face, to his bewitchingly dark eyes. His pupils are blown wide— _with lust_ , Draco notes excitedly—and they're gazing down upon him almost hungrily. Potter takes a step towards the chair, braces his tanned arm securely across the back.

Draco shivers involuntarily, the look on Potter's face is enough to make him feel reckless and bold. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh as he opens his legs and slides down and forward along his seat, pushing his hips up so that his trousers ride up the crack of his arse—which is unfortunate but the fabric of his fly pulls taut across his hard cock, baring all. He can feel a definite chill around his ankles in this position and the sensation causes the coarse hairs on his legs to lift with goose-pimples.

There's a small commotion coming from behind them and they both seem to pause before a door clicks open to allow a raucous of voices into the room.

"Harry, mate!" Weasley calls in drunken glee from the doorway as he sniggers into his snifter of fire-whiskey. "The Jury has deliberated!"

A chorus of over-zealous giggling ensues from the room he has exited from, promptly followed by inebriated jests Draco can't quite make out.

Potter visibly blanches, like he's only just remembered where he is and what he was doing, or about to do and with who. He hands Draco the bottle of beer with more vigour than necessary before backing away with a curt nod. Draco twists to look over the wing of his chair, only just catching a glimpse of Potter's arse as he enters the rowdy kitchen.

"I've never seen Harry's infestation of Wrackspurts so sparse before," Luna comments dreamily from where she lounges in a large hanging egg chair, knotted in a lilac fabric.

Draco jumps, almost out of his skin never mind his chair! He hadn't even known that Luna was in here; everyone seems to have retreated into the kitchen. _Oh bollocks_ , _has she been here this entire time?_ _What a stupid question Draco,_ he says to himself, it's Luna so, of course, she has.

Not one to embarrass easily, he clears his throat and offers her a weak smile, which she returns tenfold, her cheeks dimpling with the intensity of it.

He laughs unexpectedly. Every time he looks at her, he can't help but feel gratified befuddlement. After all these years, he still doesn't understand why she talks to him so frankly, or why she invites him to these random Gryffindor get togethers where no one particularly likes him; all he ever receives are courteous 'hello’s and forced conversions. In fact, he can’t fathom why she insists on spending so much time with him at all, from lunches in SoHo to spontaneous office visits on Thursday afternoons just so she can sit by his window and silently paint the cityscape in greys and ambers.

But above all else, he doesn’t understand why, after all that he's done and all that he’s put her though, she's forgiven him.

"You look troubled, Draco. Do you still not know what to wear next week? I could help you choose if you’d like," Luna offers freely as she slowly starts to spin herself in the chair, her toes dragging gently over plush, cream carpet.

"Why, is there another party?" Draco asks absently with no real interest (or so he convinces himself as he hasn't heard of any plans for a party and, therefore, is probably not invited.)

"Oh yes, it's Harry's special party." Luna smiles brightly at him as she spins away. "Although it wouldn't be much of a gathering, I suppose."

Draco frowns, Luna hardly ever makes any sense. "Isn't next week Potter's birthday?"

He pouts in thought as Luna continues to twist the swinging chair, her face upcast as she grips the netting above her head. "Hmm, I think it is. Oooh. A double party, isn't that exciting? You'll have to get him two gifts, Draco," she says to the ceiling.

Draco nods. Sure.

 

*

 

Draco arrives at precisely 8 pm just as Luna had instructed—he is nothing if not punctual—and is clothed in _full_ fancy dress, an outfit that Luna had insisted upon even after a 20-minute argument. He's not sure why he had even objected in the first place as he always subjugates to her in the end, plus he likes the outfit. With his hair quiffed back, falling loosely against his skull and charcoal grey eyeliner accentuating his eyes, the overall look reminds him of that video from last week and he suspects that that is partly the reason as to why Luna has chosen it.

He chuckles softly to himself. Gods, he loves Luna. He doesn't know where he'd be without her energetic presence in his life. He wouldn't know about Zante's for a start, and that would be a real shame as they sell the most delectable raspberry jam doughnuts with Tea. He wouldn't have been (re-)introduced to her girlfriend, a very reluctant Ginny Weasley, inside The Essex House up Chingford on a quiet Tuesday afternoon and then go on to become somewhat friends with her. He wouldn't have been invited to The Burrow for Ginny's 21st Birthday bash and wouldn't have felt inclined to apologise to an entire Weasley clan, including Potter and Granger-Weasley. Unfortunately, he also wouldn't have gotten drunk and hugged Hermione—because that's what he had called her at the time—and praised her for her bravery that night at the Manor. And her right hook from third year.

Embarrassingly, he wouldn't have later cried on Luna's shoulder while Ginny had rubbed his back, and revealed that he hadn't been able to procure a job since the end of the war and that his inheritance—the only Malfoy money untouched by the Ministry—was virtually gone. He wouldn't have clutched Luna to his chest and blubbered that he didn't want to surrender and go to France, to be under the rule of his father again.

Draco still remembers the outrageously long stretch of snot from his face to Luna's shoulder as he'd pulled away long enough  to take a shuddering breath. Although, he can't help but be thankful for that night too because, without it, he wouldn't be where he is now. He wouldn't have been made to sit and have a calming shot of whisky with a very understanding Arthur Weasley, then discuss the merits of the new Political Department of Wizard and Muggle Relations where Arthur is the Department Head. He wouldn't have been offered a filing clerk's job that no one in their right mind would have taken, and wouldn't have been able to work his way up to become Arthur's undersecretary. But moreover, above all else, he wouldn't have been able to be in Potter's life; even a mere wisp of seeing the man at parties, galas and charity balls was better than nothing. And for that, Draco would always be grateful to Luna. He truly did fucking love her, the madcap bint.

He adjusts Potter's gift under one arm so he can knock freely with the other. He smoothes his hair back with shaky fingers while waiting patiently for the door to be answered. He feels nervous and jittery; he's attended several functions over the years where Potter was present and it's not troubled him once. Then again, none of those had been Potter's actual birthday.

He checks his outer robes for creases or lint and pulls the bottom around himself to ensure his costume is covered, just in case.

The pale oak, fire-safety door opens with a breathy swing that tussles his pristine hair and Potter steps up to the threshold with a breathtakingly huge smile on his face.

"Malfoy, you actually came," he greets with an almost awestruck expression. His eyes glitter with excitement and look considerably more Viridian than Jade due to the reflection from his blue silk bathrobe that sweeps majestically to the floor.

Draco tries to peer around the door frame, his brow creasing with confusion; there doesn't appear to be a party in full swing, no loud music and no raucous chatter, no Ronald Weasley shouting "hey, the Ferret's finally here" while Ginny tells him to "shut the fuck up." In fact, there doesn't appear to be anyone there except for Potter and himself.

"Um, have I got the date wrong? Today is your birthday, isn't it?" He glances at Potter, still frowning. He doesn't know why he's asking, he already knows that today is Potter's birthday, it's July 31st; he'd looked through some old drafts from school and had found it jotted down on a transfiguration essay from the fifth year.

"Er, yes! It is," Potter affirms with an enthusiastic nod, and then opens the door wider in invitation. He seems almost neurotic, shifting from foot to foot and he uses the hand not holding the door to bunch his robe tighter around himself. Draco half wonders if he's taken something, it wouldn't be the first time, he muses. Potter had been caught experimenting with Salvia and Goosegrass behind The White Wyvern on Knockturn at 24. Receiving the Daily Prophet that joyous morning at the office had set his mood for the remainder of the day, it was glorious.

He enters the decent sized apartment. It’s luxuriously furnished but minimal, just how Draco has his own. (Albeit with his salary it's not quite as impressive as this.) At one time in his life Draco would have been jealous, but he's grown up a lot in the last few years and has come to appreciate the little things in life: taking Teddy to Burgess Park to play football with his friends, picking raw pastry from beneath his fingernails after a lazy Sunday spent baking, flicking a slice of cucumber at Luna as they enjoy each other’s company in Hippo’s, relishing the sting of a newly acquired tattoo after saving meticulously. Yes, Draco Malfoy appreciates the little things in life and lives by the quote he has etched across his ribs,  _Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart_. It's a quote from the book he used to read to Teddy called Winnie the Pooh by A. A Milne, he thought it befitting.

"So where is everyone, Potter? Or are they hiding?" Draco raises an aristocratic eyebrow as he spins to face Potter, who is still holding the door wide and looking sheepish.

Potter flushes the same delicate pink from last week, only now he seems assuredly more uncomfortable and it's starting to put Draco on edge.

"Um, well." Potter looks down at the knot tied around his robe and swallows audibly. "See, the thing is—I, er, asked if I could have my, um, party tomorrow. Cos, you know." He gestures with his hand like a broken windmill. "It's gay pride."

Potter's eyes flicker up briefly before going back to the fascinating knot of his robes.

"Um, so yeah. I asked if I could, have a quiet day today. Have it more, private.” He eventually stutters and trails off, fumbling all over himself the entire speech. No wonder Potter is just donned in a robe, he's probably expecting someone.

Draco sighs. See, this is why he chose to wear his long summer cloak over his outfit even though it had come with a coat.

"Well, I apologise for the intrusion, Potter. Luna failed to let me know about your change in plans," Draco excuses in a politely clipped tone. He places Potter's present on a small table beside the open door and turns to leave.

"Wait!" Potter grabs his arm. He can feel Potter's thick fingers digging onto his bicep and Draco stares at where his sleeve bunches up around the frantic grip, it's staring to stick his dampening shirt to his skin.

"You don't understand! I, er, asked them not to tell you," Potter admits and bites his bottom lip as his rosy blush deepens to a dusky red.

"Them?" Draco asks.

Potter nods. "Yeah, last week when we were at Ginny and Luna's flat warming party, and you turned up and I saw you. I—well, I asked everyone into the kitchen, to talk. I mean, none of us have forgotten who you are or what, what you did—" Draco's expression of intrigue quickly morphs into a scowl and he growls threateningly low in his throat. It's almost been over a fucking decade, does no one forgive anymore?!

Potter seems to falter for a moment, his hand dropping away from Draco's tense arm before determinedly pushing on, "but you're different now! Better. I, I just wanted to ask their opinion of you." He finishes in a rush and stares at Draco pleadingly as though he's supposed to understand. Draco doesn't, so he states so.

"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Potter. What? Do you mean you asked them what they thought about me?" He demands unnecessarily.

"In a way."

Draco clicks his tongue, he has no patience for this."Care to explain further?"

Harry takes a deep, lung-filling breath to calm himself, he motions for Draco to come back into the apartment so Potter can finally shut the door. He locks it after it ticks closed—Draco pretends that it doesn't make him feel apprehensive.

"I asked them, ugh, what they thought about-about me spending my birthday with you," Potter swallows, "alone."

Potter implores the last word and searches Draco's face for a reaction; he seems disappointed when it remains impassive. But then, how can Draco be anything else? This is some sort of joke at Draco's expense, right? Potter wouldn't really want to spend his birthday alone with Draco, would he? No. Draco's wishes don't tend to come true—apart from that one time he got a tan and white Crup at the age of six, but he thinks that was mainly bought for his mother's pleasure as she spent every waking minute grooming it and dressing it in lemon.

"So um, did Luna—" Potter rolls his arm in some sort of propeller motion again while frowning at Draco's robe. "Did Luna make you, erm, dress up?" There's a beacon red flush on Potter’s cheeks as he asks and Draco's pretty sure he'd be able to fry a Chol egg on his face if he had one. To be honest, if Draco wasn't on autopilot by this point he would have thought of it as charming but as it is, he's still struggling to comprehend what is actually happening.

"Uh, yeah," he agrees easily.

"Yes, Potter, she did," he says with more bite. "But I fail to see how that's relevant to—whatever it is that's happening here."

Potter's steady breathing hitches as he takes an unconscious step forward, his eyes darkening in that familiar way as he scans Draco's cloak. “Are you wearing it?" he asks huskily, licking his lips.

Draco frowns. "Well, of course. I wasn't told any different," he replies as he glances down at himself, oblivious to Potter's advancing prowl.

Potter suddenly peers towards the present sat upon his side table. "You were supposed to get me two gifts, Malfoy," he states offhandedly, a vivid smirk growing across his face.

"Oh, I thought that was a joke," Draco mutters to himself. "My apologies again, I'll happily send you something in the post."

"I'll happily accept you as my second present if you want to show me what you're wearing," Potter proposes, his Gryffindor courage finally shining through, eye's bright and challenging, his smirk widening into a broad smile full of teeth. His face looks open, hopeful, teasing, and Draco thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen—and he wakes up every morning to see himself in the vanity mirror.

Draco works his mouth like a dying Salmon pulled out of the Pacific Ocean. He's flabbergasted by this turn of events. Is he missing something? Is this a joke? Is this Potter taunting him for last week?

"I don't understand. I—" Draco tries.  

Potter smiles enigmatically at him and begins to slowly untie the knot on his rich indigo robe, the light fabric swishing carelessly across the pale laminate but not revealing anything, not yet.

"Would actions be better for you, Draco? They do say that actions speak louder than words."

Draco nods absently in a daze.

Potter allows the silk ties to hang limply at his sides and he shrugs the garment off with a solid roll of his shoulders. The robe falls away with a soft sigh and pools around Potter like a protective circle on Imbolc.

"Oh, fuck," Draco whines. _Whines_. It's like it's his own birthday, Yule, Ostara, Samhain and Litha all rolled into one. This sight of Potter is surely a temptation from Hades.  _Merlin!_  

Stood before him, bare chest dusted in dark curls and trailing down under a pair of high-waisted, black pants, is a half-naked Harry Potter. His legs similarly bare with a light sprinkling of dark hair, toned thighs looking thicker thanks to a deep rich tan, and on his feet... _oh, Merlin_ , he has on black patent stilettos, the ones with a high, thinly pointed heel. Draco groans appreciatively and bites the skin on the inside his cheek to stop the humiliating whimper that is threatening to come forth. _Merlin and his Tomes save me from the pure homoerotic model that is Harry fucking Potter!_ Draco beseeches.

He stares wild-eyed and watches as the man in question ruffles his ebony hair, to brush his fringe forward so it lays thick and heavy against his scalp— _like_ _the men from that video,_ Draco realises. He shuts his eyes and leans over to cup his cock,  _squeezeing_ the hardening length before he embarrasses himself too quickly.

Taking a gulping breath he gazes up into Harry's face—yes, it's going to be Harry from now on—and unclasps the brass claws of his summer cloak, removing it and throwing it halfway across the room. He stands there clad in his dark stone military uniform, complete with black leather coat and boots. Reaching into his inner pocket he pulls out and unshrinks the matching Captain's hat, placing it snugly upon his head so that the black PVC leather contrasts perfectly against his platinum hair and ivory skin.

Wonderfully, Harry is on him before he even rights the hat, shoving him roughly into the apartment door and grabbing the collar of his coat in a punishing grip. The leather squeaks under the assault as Harry leans in to capture Draco's top lip in a promising kiss, licking underneath it to reach his teeth before pulling away with a wet suck. But Draco doesn't want a tease, he just _wants_. He yanks Harry hard by the hair and pulls his face back towards Draco's so that they can lose themselves in a bruising kiss, securing his hand at the back of Harry’s skull. Draco sucks on Harry's lips, nipping and then licking in apology, reddening them to the point of abuse.

Harry moans against Draco's lips, hands scrambling mindlessly at his face so that he can pull them impossibly closer, nails biting into his skin and leaving half moon marks. In retaliation, Draco rips Harry’s head to the side by the firm grip in his hair and plunges his tongue deep, pushing passed eager, swollen lips. Harry tastes of Marzipan and sugar, of Candy floss and Whizzing pops, all sweet with the reminisce of Honey Dukes, making Draco feel like he’s fifteen again. It’s addictive like he’s craving for a sugar rush, but there’s also something else, something just so uniquely Harry that it makes Draco ache. Then there’s the under taste of bitter Fire-Whisky, something to remind Draco that they aren’t adolescents anymore, that times have changed, that he’s changed and that this is real, that this is happening.

Saliva cools against their cheeks and chin, the kiss becoming more heated, more devouring and all consuming as Draco cups the back of Harry's head and forces the kiss to deepen. His hat has been knocked askew but it doesn't matter, all that matters is Potter— _Harry—_ and for this to never stop.

Draco parts the bottom of his coat and pushes his thigh forcefully between Harry's legs, pulling him in. The increased height from the stilettos allows Harry to effortlessly rut against the conjecture of Draco's leg and groin in small, rolling thrusts, his cotton covered cock catching on the leather belt around Draco's hips and causing his breath to hitch. Draco can feel the heavy weight of Harry's balls where they rest against the very top of his thigh, feel as they move and drag with every flex from Harry's arse. It's more intimate and maddening than anything Draco's ever experienced, and he loves it; having Harry thrust so close to his cock but only being able to ghost over it infrequently is driving him insane.

He moves his hands to cup that perfectly plump arse and forcibly rubs Harry harder against him; he wants him squirming mindlessly like a bitch in heat.

Fuck, Draco feels like an animal, running on a primal urge. He gasps away from Harry's mouth, remembering that neither of them can function without oxygen, and trails sucking kisses down his beautifully tanned throat. Harry bucks into him and clings onto the coat while chanting _'please'_ into Draco's ear like a dying plea.

Draco reluctantly tears his mouth away long enough to demand, "where's your bedroom, Potter?"

His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, deep and hoarse, like his throat's been stuffed with cock all night. Potter pants against his lips and points towards a doorway at the other side of the apartment. Draco nods and then hoists Harry up to mount his waist while he wavers slightly across the room, Harry's pointed heels scratching into the leather coat and squealing when they lock together behind Draco's back.

As Draco carries his precious bounty he slips his little fingers under the scantily clad pants around Harry's arse and begins to massage and tease his perineum in feather light touches, inching closer towards his hole.

"Gods, Malfoy." Harry moans and Draco can feel his muscles relax as his opening flutters in anticipation.

He makes it athwart the room and kicks open the door with his heavy booted foot, causing the wooden plane to bang into a dresser with a blatant _thwack—_ they ignore whatever object crashes to the floor.

Draco moves forward and dumps Harry unceremoniously onto the bed so that he bounces somewhat on the sumptuous mattress. He relishes in the sight of him for a moment, watching him whimper and moan as he inherently runs his hands over his chest and abdomen and arches mindlessly from the bed, "Malfoy, please - "

Harry tapers off into a groan as Draco swiftly crawls up the bed and hooks an arm under Harry's right knee so he can suck a bruising bite into the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

"Oh, fuck!" Harry cries as he bucks slightly off the bed, his fingers blindly scrambling for Draco's hair, Draco's coat.

Draco beams at the vigorous response to a mere love-bite and descends further down the mattress, avoiding Harry's eager hands. He hooks both his arms under Harry's knees and curls his palms around to touch attractively toned hips. The motion causes Harry's thighs to fall open invitingly and Draco slots himself easily between to lay practically on top of Harry's cock. He feels sweaty fingers stroke along his nape as he nuzzles the side of his nose against the surprisingly rough silk of those tantalisingly teasing, black pants, inhaling the steadily growing damp patch that smells just so Harry it makes his mouth water.

He flattens his tongue and licks experimentally at the head of Harry's cock, over the silk, and feels it twitch against his mouth, hears Harry's sharp intake of breath as he squirms at the unexpected contact and, at the end, savours the taste of salt and musk that makes his pulse race just that little bit faster.

"Merlin, I need to fuck you." Draco rises up to plead at Harry's perfectly flushed face. He'll beg if he has to.

Harry nods frantically though, already moving to start shoving at his pants. _Fabulous_. Draco helps by pulling the waistband down and over Harry's cock and thighs, his legs and then finally his shoes. Draco throws the damp garment somewhere over his shoulder, where it lands is unimportant.

Potter's cock is a sight to behold, a Seventh Wonder of the World in Draco's opinion. Although that analogy doesn't quite sit right with Draco, he's not quite sure he'd appreciate random people coming to view Potter's cock as part of their bucket list. This cock is his, thank you very much. For tonight anyway.

Draco unfastens his coat and bats Harry's hands away when he attempts to unfasten the heels, giving him a stern 'they stay on' look.

Harry lays sprawled out on the dark bedcovers, his skin rosy and shining with sweat, his neck littered with faint purple marks, and his beautiful cock resting eagerly against his lower stomach.

"Fuck, you've no idea how much I want you,"' Draco whispers.

"Then take me, it's been too long. Wanted you for too long," Harry admits breathlessly as he strokes, once, along his shaft, pulling down the foreskin to reveal the plump, rouge head of his cock.

"Lube, Potter?" Draco asks, his eyes transfixed upon the wet bulb of Harry's cock, watching Harry thumb the slit, the pad of his digit sinking marginally in every time it passes over.

"Bedside table."

Draco moves quickly, uncapping the bottle and pouring out a generous amount before running it between his fingers in an attempt to warm it up.

He positions himself back on the bed between Harry's thighs, his own spread slightly in order to give him balance.

Some of the clear gel globs from between Draco's fingers and drops onto his knee, darkening the fabric as the liquid seeps in. He promptly spreads the remaining slick up and down the dusty pink crevice between Potter's cheeks, smearing his hole as much as possible, massaging at the rim with his middle finger. He runs the tip around and then dips, not entering, not yet.

Around and then dip.

Harry begins to pant again and fists the sheets of his bed while trying to chase Draco's finger, but every time Draco pulls away. Simply massaging the outside.

Harry huffs out in frustration and whines another, “ _please.”_

"Touch your cock," Draco instructs calmly. "Slowly," he chides when Harry becomes too amorous. "Feel it, prolong it. I promise it'll feel so good."

Harry settles to just minute thrusts as he slowly wanks his weeping cock with his fist. Draco wants this to last, needs it to, and he wants to savour every second because who knows if it will happen again.

He slowly massages more firmly around Harry's rim and then dips. Now that Harry is solely focused on the sensations of his cock, eyes shut and his head thrown back in pure bliss, he isn't even aware that he is gradually fucking himself on Draco's finger. He continues to thrust up into his loose fist instead of bucking down onto Draco's hand, so Draco moves his index finger to join the middle and groans as they both disappear inside Harry's tight heat. He glances up the bed to find Harry slack-jawed and moaning feebly, eyes still shut as he stops moving his hand a moment to hold back, before pumping again.

"Draco...." Harry breathes.

Draco groans and rests his head against Harry's trembling leg as he works a third finger in. He's sure that with the extra burn, Harry will realise and start to thrust against him in earnest. He doesn't, like he's still blissfully unaware and has forgotten about Draco completely.

Well, Draco will have to change that. He unbuckles his belt and pops the metal buttons on his fly, shucks the trousers just enough to get his cock and balls free, he leaves everything else on. He applies a more ample amount of lube to his cock, all the while gazing at Harry's eyelids as they flicker. He watches those ruby-kissed lips mutter Draco's name, Harry looks absolutely exquisite as he thrusts shallowly into his fist, his other hand caressing over his chest to play with his own nipple. A pearl of cum catches over his thumb as he lightly tugs his cock from root to tip. Draco realises Harry's cock has started to leak liberally and knows exactly what that means.

He positions himself between Harry's spread legs, getting the head of his cock to catch on Harry's loosened rim. Once it does, he rocks forward _hard_ in one sharp, fluid motion and breaches Harry all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping against Harry's arse and the open buckle of his belt jangling against Harry's thigh.

“Oh fuck, _Draco_!” The unexpected sensation causes Harry's orgasm to be torn from him as his eyes fly open and he bucks helplessly with a scream. Draco grits his teeth against the clenching around his cock and grips Harry's hips so he can't pull away. 

Come splatters between them, up Harry’s stomach and dribbles down his hand, and smears on Draco’s coat as Harry pants through the rolling waves of pleasure encroaching him, his eyes glazed and pupils blown. Draco waits it out as patiently as he can, almost tearing his bottom lip in half from biting back a groan and the urge to just _pound_.

When Harry's breathing calms and his eyes become more focused from searching around the room, settling on Draco's face, Draco takes that as his cue; he settles over Harry and brings his legs up to bracket around his waist. The stilettos catch in Draco's open coat, making it fan out behind his back like bat wings. He takes an experimental thrust, which causes Harry to wail in over-sensitive pleasure. Draco smirks down at him, giving him a sloppy kiss before he starts to move in long, hard thrusts, pounding into the arse he's craved for more than six years. Harry moans and shrieks as he claws at the upturned collar of Draco's coat before finding his neck. He rips his nails into Draco's skin, leaving a trail of red lines.

"Fuck, yes. Harry," Draco groans. He reaches up with his dry hand to grip the headboard so he can use it to propel himself harder. The quartz crystal orbs on either side of the headboard posts clank loudly against the wall, Draco can only hope they're spelled not to shatter.

"Fuck, Harry. You feel so fucking good - “

"Don't stop. Gods, don't you dare stop." Harry moves his hands to Draco's arse and begins to tug pull and push at him so he slams into that glorious heat harder. Draco knows he's going to have a bruised pelvis come morning.

"Malfoy— _Draco!_ "

More slick spreads up Draco's stomach now that his shirt is hanging forward from his trousers, and the second lot of pulsating clenches around his cock is too much, he drives home, once, twice, and stills into a shudder as he screams Harry's name.

_Fuck_.

Draco slumps forward to rest his head in the crook of Harry's damp neck, his panting breaths heat the skin and blows back into his face. He feels Harry shift in order to lower his legs back to the bed.

He sniffs and lifts up so he can roll to the side with a contented sigh.

"Are you gonna stay?" Harry murmurs from across the bed. Draco looks over at him.

He reaches out and threads his fingers into Harry's matted hair, searching his face. "Why? Do you want me to?"

"Yeah, if you want to.“

Draco smiles. "I do." He shifts closer to Harry on the bed making it creak. He pulls him to his side and wraps an arm around him to cradle his head. He kisses Harry's temple, relishing the salty tang. "Just one thing though, how do you feel about being tied up?"

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve made it to the end then thank you for reading! I hope it wasn’t too bad! I know I’m not the best writer. Still, Kudos is appreciated ❤️   
> Much love to everyone! #MakeLoveNotHorcruxes
> 
> Annie x


End file.
